running around like a….

When you are at home,
even if the chicken is a little burnt,
what’s the big deal?
Relax.
Jacques Pepin

(The Bunratty rooster, a copy of a photo from the property)

I was city born and bred…
yet I’ve been country ever since—-
or maybe we should just say more rural than urban,
as I wouldn’t exactly call my small Georgia town country.

We are quite modern actually.
Hospital, factories, plants, large grocery chains, shopping centers, a college, a technical college…
But we do have a sale barn where farmers head every Monday morning to buy and sell their animals.
We have farmland 5 minutes from the downtown square.
We have wild animals lurking about…
fox, deer, turkey, coyotes, snakes, rabbits, armadillos, possums,
raccoons, snakes…did I mention the snakes?
Rattlesnakes, copperheads, black racers, rat snakes, corn snakes, garden snakes…..

Growing up meat and chicken was something we purchased from a grocery store…
much like I still do today.
Nice and neat in its shrink wrapped packaging.
Same with eggs, milk, hamburgers…you name it—it came from the store.
I never thought much about the “before the store” aspect….

My grandmothers grew up on farms.
They were the original farm to table girls.
Tales of butchering hogs, cows, chickens, etc. rang throughout the stories I heard as a child.

I personally love animals too much to raise them only to turn around and kill butcher them for food.
But I get it.
Living off the land as it were.
I like the idea of living off the land.
Just as I like the idea of getting my meat from a store all nice, neat and shrink wrapped.
For even though I love animals, I am truly a meat and potato girl.

I do have a chicken coop however, all ready for the day when I will have my own girls offering up fresh eggs…
yet my time for chickens, let alone much of anything else, is terribly limited these days.
Hence why I often feel as if I’m running around like a chicken with my head cut off…

They say that when a farmer butchers, slaughters, chops a chicken by first waking off its head, the body will jump up in the air and actually take off running—as if for dear life—
not exactly realizing dear life is sufficiently over.

Reflexes the experts tell us.

Shades of Tim Burton, Anne Boleyn and Marie Antoinette all rolled into one.

So maybe my willy nilly running about like the proverbial chicken with my head cut off–running wildly and madly here and there all helter skelter could be chalked up to mere reflexes—the reflexes of being overwhelmed and over stressed.

Time to slow down, regroup and refocus….
and most importantly, time to seek God’s words….
Words of comfort, teaching, instruction and assurance….

You are righteous, Lord,
and your laws are right.
The statutes you have laid down are righteous;
they are fully trustworthy.
My zeal wears me out,
for my enemies ignore your words.
Your promises have been thoroughly tested,
and your servant loves them.
Though I am lowly and despised,
I do not forget your precepts.
Your righteousness is everlasting
and your law is true.
Trouble and distress have come upon me,
but your commands give me delight.
Your statutes are always righteous;
give me understanding that I may live.
Psalm 119:137-144

Beware the Walu

“Everything I eat has been proved by some doctor or other to be a deadly poison,
and everything I don’t eat has been proved to be indispensable to life…..
But I go marching on.”
George Bernard Shaw

(an image borrowed from the web of a “Walu” fish, otherwise known as escolar–the image says it all)

Firstly I want to thank you all for your the prayerful love extended to both me and my family as we struggled over the weekend, and continue to struggle, with the sudden the death of my father-n-law.
At some point in the near future, I will touch base on this latest detour within Life’s journey…
however today…I thought we could all benefit from a bit of uplifting levity.

I always marvel at God’s impeccable timing…as well as for the depth of His comfort, joy and even laughter when it seems we are at our lowest…and have fallen to the bottom of our despair…
…Of how He works ever so gently, reminding us of His ever constant presence…especially when we feel most overwhelmed and alone.

Sometimes He comes as a gentle breeze cooling the tear streaked cheeks of sorrow…
other times He comes riding in on the wings of comedic diversion….

Today it is upon the wings of comedy I wish to expand as I want to share the tale of a fish…
A fish by any other name would taste so sweet….

Saturday had been a very long day.
It was the day following the sudden death of my 92 year old father-n-law. Whereas he was in his ninties, he was still very much alive and quite active…still working and very much a part of our daily lives.
I had been cooking for him on Wednesdays as my husband and I would take him supper and then breakfast every Sunday. He was not one for wearing his dentures, so meals were “soft”–lots of fish and mashed potatoes.

Saturday evening following the visitation at the funeral home and prior to Sunday’s funeral, my husband and I found ourselves exhausted both physically as well as emotionally. Here it was 9 PM as we drove back home when we suddenly realized how hungry we were…as we couldn’t remember when we had actually last eaten.

Thinking by 9PM most restaurant crowds would be tapering off, we headed to the local Longhorn Steak House… only to be met by throngs of girls in softball uniforms waiting outside. It seems a tournament had taken place earlier and now the hungry players had amassed for a healthy dose of protein.

“Go on to Lil Hawaiian” my now disgruntled husband groused.
Lil Hawaiian is a local restaurant run by a Hawaiian chef who specializes in fresh fish with a Polynesian flare. His fish is not the typical fish found so far inland such as trout, catfish or tilapia but rather fresh fish he has flown in often from the west coast.

Tired and very hungry I scan the menu noting that several of my go-to favorites are sold out. My husband sticks to his safe standard of steak and shrimp as I eye something that sounds good asking our server her opinion.. “Oh I love walu, it’s a buttery fish”
Butter?
My ears perk up.
Being a lover of all things butter, I tell her I’ll take it.

Moments later our food arrives.
I am presented with a lovely piece of white pan sautéed fish topped with a ginger shiitake mushroom sauce paired with jasmine rice and sautéed snow peas.
The first bite was divine.
A wonderful unctuous and satiny fish that practically melted in ones mouth.
I offer my husband a bite, who laments that he now wishes he’d been adventuresome, ordering the same.

As I finish the last bite asking my husband, who is an avid fisherman, if he’s ever heard of walu.
He casually munches on his shrimp and cheekily tells me that it’s probably a trash fish.
Grabbing my phone I decide to google walu.

My eyes suddenly grow wide and my mouth hangs open as I begin to scan the top links for the walu fish…

“World’s most dangerous fish…”

WHAT?

“Don’t eat escolar…”

Escolar??!!?

“Oh I didn’t eat escolar, I ate walu…WHEW”
the rising panic starts to subside…
when the very next line listing the other names offered for the escolar fish….
jumps right at me…W A L U

From food blogs to nutritionists, from fisherman to even TripAdvisor…every link’s top line consisted of one of the following disclaimers…

“don’t”

“beware”

“dangerous”

“to be avoided”

down to

“avoid at all costs the ex-lax fish of Hawaii

or

“don’t eat the poop fish of Hawaii.”

By now I’ve turned pale while my husband stares at me during mid chew of his steak.

I begin reading aloud…

...The escolar, aka walu fish, is a delightful buttery fish with a dangerous side effect.
It is so bad that the fish has been banned from public consumption in Japan, Italy, Australia with the EU mandating that the fish be packaged with a health warning…

Warning number seven on one such disclaimer especially caught my eye…

7. Pre-Existing Conditions. As always, pregnant women have no fun. Also, people with malabsorption or bowel problems should probably just stay away. Unless you find your bathroom comfortable and you dislike your pants

Anyone who knows me, knows I have suffered with IBS my entire life.
My stomach and I are not friends and I work very very hard to keep it happy.
This is absolutely the last thing I needed…an innocently consumed yet guaranteed trigger for misery….
all during a very important and busy weekend…

What exactly happens to those poor souls who knowingly, or unknowingly such as in my case, consume this so called “butter” fish of which you are now most likely wondering…
well…I don’t wish to be too graphic but I will simply cut and paste to the chase…

“But the buttery fish is actually a kind of snake mackerel, a deep-sea bottom-feeder full of a wax ester that accounts for its dreamy velvety texture. Unfortunately, that oil is not digestible by humans and causes severe gastrointestinal distress in some people. It has earned escolar the nickname “Ex-Lax fish.”

Well, a ‘laxative like effect’ is how my fish monger described it. Others would describe it as closer to diahhrea. An expert would call it ‘keriorrhoea’. Literally translated, it means ‘flow of wax’. Oily orange droplets pouring out your pooper. Keriorrhoea occurs because the wax esters in the flesh of the fish pool up in your intestine.

Symptoms can begin anywhere from 30 minutes to 36 hours following consumption.

With that last little fun fact, my husband quickly asks for the check, as he hasn’t even finished his last bite of food, wondering aloud why in the world would a place with a Hawaiian chef, of all things, knowingly offer such to their customers?????

We race as if our lives depended upon it head home with me wondering if we shouldn’t just detour to the ER so I could get my stomach pumped.

A long story short…

With our Sunday filled with the sorrow of official good-byes, families, friends and an emotionally heavy sadness, I knew the last thing we’d need would be for me to be in some sort of physical distress.

I actually did not feel well throughout much of the night but hoped it was simply nerves generated from the current events.
The following morning, in order to be on the safe side with an added bit of insurance to safely survive the funeral, I downed several Immodium.

By late that evening we gratefully realized we had made it through the rigors of the day.
Following the ceremony, the family gathered back at my father-n-law’s house as the church ladies provided the family with a lovingly cooked meal…but I hadn’t much of an appetite only picking over the food.

By Monday morning I thought that my 36 hour window was coming to a thankful close. I would be home free… escaping the wrath of the walu—-that was…until after a morning cup of coffee…

Oddly and seemingly out of nowhere, there were strange rumblings coming from somewhere deep within our house…alarmingly it dawned on me, those loud rumblings were coming from somewhere deep within my own gut….and they weren’t rumblings of hunger….

Later in the morning, I managed to call my husband, who was by now safely at work and back to a much needed routine…
I wanted to inform him that it was official…
the walu fish had finally made its presence known in my life…and it was not pretty…

The good thing, the thing that I was most grateful for however, was that I made it through the difficulties of the weekend without the added misery of an unhappy digestive tract…as disaster thankfully waited to strike at a more convenient time.

Had I not “researched” the walu fish, I would have thought for certain that the sweet church ladies had given me some ghastly gift of food poisoning with their love offering of a wonderful southern spread.
But with my having been fully educated at the dinner table the night prior, I knew all too well that I was suffering from the revenge of the Walu…

Odd coincidence or bad dinner choices or perhaps God’s delightful way of adding a little levity and a bit of diversion to our otherwise overtly sad detour on the journey of Life….

Now can someone please quickly pass the Immodium…

Here’s a little link for your own research into the effects of the escolar / walu fish…

http://blog.medellitin.com/2008/12/escolar-world-most-dangerous-fish.html

This means war!!!!

“Where the battle rages, there the loyalty of the soldier is proved.”
― Martin Luther

Do you have any idea as to what this picture is all about?
You think it’s just some sort of stem don’t you?
You are partially correct, it is a stem–sans all its leaves.
And you should know that this is not just any sort of stem!
This is one of almost 50 plants just like it.
Rows upon rows of “topped off” plants.
Topped off you ask?
Yes, as in eaten off.
As in all of my green, wax, bush, french beans have been pillaged.
Pillaged you ask?
As in decimated.
As in eaten to the nubs.

Do you remember this little fellow? I took this shot back in the fall.
“Oh how pretty”
“Oh how majestic”
I had mused as I watched the bucks and does come and go in our yard.
Little did I know of the impending treachery. . .

Well it now seems as if this little buck has called all his friends.
The antlers are long gone and this is the time of year that food is at its peak.
Food?
Yes, my food.
As in my garden.
UGH!!!!

I try to keep this garden of ours as organic as possible. The strongest stuff I use on pests is the poison I sprinkle on those d@m%ed fire ant mounds which ring the garden like the infamous ring of fire—quite fitting indeed.
Oh how I hate those evil little biting devils. . .

But after my rows of beans, my pepper plants now minus their tops, an entire cucumber plant MIA, crushed stalks of young corn and even branchy vines from my tomatoes all mysteriously disappearing—daily . . .
I’m mad.
Really mad.
Fighting mad.

Do you remember George C. Scott’s role as General George S. Paton?
Remember that opening fiery profanity laced monologue?
That man didn’t play.
Just ask the Germans.
And thank God for the Allies he didn’t mince words. . .
Well, by George S. Patton, it is now time for the big guns!!
As in, this means war!!!

Recently an old-timer (that’s what my husband calls the elderly men who have spent their lives working in the fields) came into my husband’s store recently and shared with him a tried and true little secret weapon that he swore by to ward off deer from ones garden. . .Irish Spring.

What you say?
As in Irish Spring, green, highly fragrant, soap??!!
Yep.
Supposedly the deer don’t like the smell.
We bought boxes of the soap and have cut slivers, much like Hansel and Grettle leaving little crumbs, surrounding the entire perimeter of the garden, plus up and down each and every row.
All the while I whistled the little sailor ditty from those iconic Irish Spring commercials.

Next, I went for the old standard pie pans.
Shock and awe.

Clinking, clanging and banging in the breeze. We tied 15 pans all around the garden. They’re hung in tress, from the tomato cages, and even from the bean poles.

And then there was the non poisonous pest granules which are spread on the ground, not the plants. It has an irritating effect on the nostrils of varmints large and small.
Hummmmm.
Yeah, and I’ve got some swamp land for sale. . .the jury is still out on the granules.

But— there is a secret weapon.
I don’t know his name yet.
But he is two faced.
He’s doubly mean
And he’s doubly bad.
Plus he smells.
Smells you ask?
Yes.
Stinks to high heaven.
As in he’s been doused with perfume.

I figured a good dousing of perfume might signal that a human just may be lurking in and around the beans.
Fingers crossed.
My only other recourse. . . send my husband out all night with a spot light.
Somehow I don’t think he’d be too keen on that thought. . .
I’ll keep you posted. . .